This must be the cave where the Norse stayed overnight at the time of the sacrifices! Perhaps Freydis had visited here when she did her magic in the valley.
Suddenly, the unknown had become the known, and Rigg felt much better. He would signal Ari, and then they would make some fire and go into the cave after the wolf.
The boy scrambled back to the cliff and began shouting. He shouted for a few minutes at the top of his lungs and then listened. But all he could hear was the echo of his own cry.
Rigg lay on his belly at the edge of the cliff and peered over. The rock facings, the approaches to the hillside, and the valley itself were all silent. The only hint of motion was the glitter of the sunlight on the melting snow.
Perplexed, Rigg moved back to the cave entrance. He looked into the darkness and decided no; he would not go in there all alone. He would go down and find Ari and they would come back together and stalk the wolf. If the wounded animal escaped in the meantime, so be it. He would not go alone into that darkness.
As he stood there, however, peering into the shadowy cave, he heard something unexpected. It was a soft splashing, coming from the darkness inside, the sound of water striking stone.
Curious, he took a single step forward and noticed something else: a faint light that flickered in the cavern’s depths.
How could there be light in there? Was it a fire? Had Ari arrived there before him?
He called out the name of his friend a few times, but no one answered.
Was there a crack in the roof allowing the sunlight to enter? Was there another entrance at the rear of the cavern? That was very likely, since the Vikings did not like places that might turn into traps.
If there was light enough to see, there was light enough to shoot — Rigg decided he would advance just a little farther into that gloomy place. If the wolf was indeed hiding there, he would be able to get a good shot off before the beast could attack.
Rigg took a step forward, then another. Some distance ahead, light glittered on the wet cavern walls. The ceiling was lower at that point and there seemed to be no exit, but a side passage was just visible — a narrow turning perhaps leading somewhere. The source of the light must be there.
Rigg decided that he would go forward only as far as that junction. He couldn’t afford to be surprised from behind. He heard no telltale animal sounds, however — no growls or barks or heavy breathing — and this reassured him. He would merely take a look, then retreat into the sunshine. Ari could not be far away.
He advanced one, two steps and listened. Nothing but the sound of dripping water. The light flickered brightly ahead. Another two steps. Still no sign of the wolf.
One more step and he would be able to get a look down the right-hand passage. He inched forward.
Rigg’s sudden cry filled the cave. Straight ahead, hanging up by his legs above a big fire, was Ari. He was bound and gagged and twirling ever so gently at the end of a thick leather thong. The fire crackled a few feet beneath his head. Gigantic shadows moved on the cave walls.
Rigg sprang forward, rushing to free his friend, but something moved in the shadows, light flashed briefly on a bone white club, and a blow landed hard on the side of his head.
Then the darkness swallowed him and he saw and heard nothing more.
CHAPTER FOUR A WOLF IN HUMAN FORM?
Rigg opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, bound hand and foot, and his head hurt. He could barely move, and the flickering light on the cave roof seemed like a taunt to his misery. For a few frustrating minutes, he strained at his bonds without loosening them.
He was sore all over, as if he’d been rolled down a rocky slope, and his pride was quite deflated. He’d been clubbed and trussed up proper, like some helpless animal victim. The very thought made him groan. Once again, he tried to shift his body and failed. An answering groan sounded from close by.
After a few minutes, Rigg managed to raise his head. There was Ari — alive, at least, but hanging upside down from a ceiling beam set in the stone roof — just where Rigg had glimpsed him before being attacked. A much-diminished fire flickered underneath his friend. He seemed to be conscious, too, but was so far saying nothing. What a pair of fools they were! And now they would surely have to pay for it.
“Ari! What happened?” Rigg whispered. His own voice sounded hoarse and afraid. His shame deepened.
“What happened? Someone hit me over the head, then trussed me up here. Not a pleasant experience. I thought I was going to be roasted for dinner. But I’m very glad you’re alive, Rigg! I was beginning to wonder.”
Rigg was relieved to hear Ari sounding very much like his usual self. “But who attacked you?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I found this cave, entered from a passage below, and started to explore it,” his friend continued. “Someone struck me from behind — I didn’t see him. When I came to consciousness, I found myself strung up over this fire. I thought I was dead and consigned to that fiery pit the Christians talk about. I should have become a believer, I thought! Now I see I’m still on earth — more or less on earth. But I’m feeling a little light-headed, upside down like this.”
Rigg couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s patter. Clearly, a very clever enemy had trapped them both. Things could be worse, though — they hadn’t been killed outright. And now, with no one in sight, they had a few minutes to try to plan an escape.
“Ari, listen! We’ve got to do something! Can you swing your body a little? Maybe you can break that leather thong that’s holding you up. If you could crawl over here, I might be able to loosen your bonds with my teeth.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you wriggle this way? You might be able to burn off those bindings in the fire!”
“All right. I’ll just move like this, and —”
Rigg stopped in mid-sentence. Someone had suddenly started singing or chanting quite close by. It was the voice of a girl or a woman. A beautiful sing-song, Rigg thought, of which he understood not a word.
When he got over his surprise, Rigg called out to his friend: “Can you make that out, Ari?”
Ari Bardasson was nothing if not a student of language. From childhood he had attempted and largely succeeded in mastering every single foreign tongue he encountered. These included Latin, Greek, and even some Arabic, picked up from the crew of the occasional merchant ship that had visited the great city of Constantinople, where so many languages were spoken.
“You must go to the court of Olaf Tryggvason in Norway,” Tyrkir had told him. “They have great need of your skills there and you will do well.”
Now Rigg listened and was sure he had heard the language of that song before. But Ari was the expert.
“That’s no mystery,” Ari told him. “Even hanging upside down like this I can recognize Tornit when I hear it. It’s a Skraeling that’s singing out there, and she’s singing a song to a wolf-spirit!”
Tornit! Rigg was astounded. No wonder the language sounded vaguely familiar. It was the tongue of the native Greenlanders, and — standoffish as the Norse were — occasionally one heard it around Brattalid. It would be even more common in the Norse settlements along the coast and quite familiar in the Nordsetur, the fishing and hunting territory where the Norse and Greenlanders met with some frequency.
“Then it was the Tornit who ambushed us!” Rigg cried out. All of a sudden he was really angry. The Vikings wouldn’t tolerate this! They considered themselves far superior to the Greenland natives — Skraeling was a word of contempt. At the same time they all knew that the Tornit were quite skilled with their own weapons and were excellent hunters and trappers.
“Now I